Cymbeline, King of Britain

Cymbeline. Stand by my side, you whom the gods have made
3365Preservers of my throne. Woe is my heart
That the poor soldier that so richly fought,
Whose rags shamed gilded arms, whose naked breast
Stepp'd before larges of proof, cannot be found:
He shall be happy that can find him, if
3370Our grace can make him so.

Belarius. I never saw
Such noble fury in so poor a thing;
Such precious deeds in one that promises nought
But beggary and poor looks.
3375

Pisanio. He hath been search'd among the dead and living,
But no trace of him.

Cymbeline. To my grief, I am
The heir of his reward;
3380[To BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS]which I will add
To you, the liver, heart and brain of Britain,
By whom I grant she lives. 'Tis now the time
To ask of whence you are. Report it.
3385

Belarius. Sir,
In Cambria are we born, and gentlemen:
Further to boast were neither true nor modest,
Unless I add, we are honest.

Cymbeline. Bow your knees.
3390Arise my knights o' the battle: I create you
Companions to our person and will fit you
With dignities becoming your estates.
[Enter CORNELIUS and Ladies]There's business in these faces. Why so sadly
3395Greet you our victory? you look like Romans,
And not o' the court of Britain.

Cornelius. Hail, great king!
To sour your happiness, I must report
The queen is dead.
3400

Cymbeline. Who worse than a physician
Would this report become? But I consider,
By medicine life may be prolong'd, yet death
Will seize the doctor too. How ended she?

Cornelius. With horror, madly dying, like her life,
3405Which, being cruel to the world, concluded
Most cruel to herself. What she confess'd
I will report, so please you: these her women
Can trip me, if I err; who with wet cheeks
Were present when she finish'd.
3410

Cornelius. First, she confess'd she never loved you, only
Affected greatness got by you, not you:
Married your royalty, was wife to your place;
Abhorr'd your person.
3415

Cymbeline. She alone knew this;
And, but she spoke it dying, I would not
Believe her lips in opening it. Proceed.

Cornelius. Your daughter, whom she bore in hand to love
With such integrity, she did confess
3420Was as a scorpion to her sight; whose life,
But that her flight prevented it, she had
Ta'en off by poison.

Cymbeline. O most delicate fiend!
Who is 't can read a woman? Is there more?
3425

Cornelius. More, sir, and worse. She did confess she had
For you a mortal mineral; which, being took,
Should by the minute feed on life and lingering
By inches waste you: in which time she purposed,
By watching, weeping, tendance, kissing, to
3430O'ercome you with her show, and in time,
When she had fitted you with her craft, to work
Her son into the adoption of the crown:
But, failing of her end by his strange absence,
Grew shameless-desperate; open'd, in despite
3435Of heaven and men, her purposes; repented
The evils she hatch'd were not effected; so
Despairing died.

Cymbeline. Mine eyes
Were not in fault, for she was beautiful;
Mine ears, that heard her flattery; nor my heart,
That thought her like her seeming; it had
been vicious
3445To have mistrusted her: yet, O my daughter!
That it was folly in me, thou mayst say,
And prove it in thy feeling. Heaven mend all!
[Enter LUCIUS, IACHIMO, the Soothsayer, and other]Roman Prisoners, guarded; POSTHUMUS LEONATUS
3450behind, and IMOGEN]
Thou comest not, Caius, now for tribute that
The Britons have razed out, though with the loss
Of many a bold one; whose kinsmen have made suit
That their good souls may be appeased with slaughter
3455Of you their captives, which ourself have granted:
So think of your estate.

Caius Lucius. Consider, sir, the chance of war: the day
Was yours by accident; had it gone with us,
We should not, when the blood was cool,
3460have threaten'd
Our prisoners with the sword. But since the gods
Will have it thus, that nothing but our lives
May be call'd ransom, let it come: sufficeth
A Roman with a Roman's heart can suffer:
3465Augustus lives to think on't: and so much
For my peculiar care. This one thing only
I will entreat; my boy, a Briton born,
Let him be ransom'd: never master had
A page so kind, so duteous, diligent,
3470So tender over his occasions, true,
So feat, so nurse-like: let his virtue join
With my request, which I make bold your highness
Cannot deny; he hath done no Briton harm,
Though he have served a Roman: save him, sir,
3475And spare no blood beside.

Pisanio. [Aside]. It is my mistress:
Since she is living, let the time run on
To good or bad.
3525

[CYMBELINE and IMOGEN come forward]

Cymbeline. Come, stand thou by our side;
Make thy demand aloud.
[To IACHIMO]Sir, step you forth;
3530Give answer to this boy, and do it freely;
Or, by our greatness and the grace of it,
Which is our honour, bitter torture shall
Winnow the truth from falsehood. On, speak to him.

Imogen. My boon is, that this gentleman may render
3535Of whom he had this ring.

Cymbeline. My daughter! what of her? Renew thy strength:
I had rather thou shouldst live while nature will
3555Than die ere I hear more: strive, man, and speak.

Iachimo. Upon a time,—unhappy was the clock
That struck the hour!—it was in Rome,—accursed
The mansion where!—'twas at a feast,—O, would
Our viands had been poison'd, or at least
3560Those which I heaved to head!—the good Posthumus—
What should I say? he was too good to be
Where ill men were; and was the best of all
Amongst the rarest of good ones,—sitting sadly,
Hearing us praise our loves of Italy
3565For beauty that made barren the swell'd boast
Of him that best could speak, for feature, laming
The shrine of Venus, or straight-pight Minerva.
Postures beyond brief nature, for condition,
A shop of all the qualities that man
3570Loves woman for, besides that hook of wiving,
Fairness which strikes the eye—

Iachimo. All too soon I shall,
3575Unless thou wouldst grieve quickly. This Posthumus,
Most like a noble lord in love and one
That had a royal lover, took his hint;
And, not dispraising whom we praised,—therein
He was as calm as virtue—he began
3580His mistress' picture; which by his tongue
being made,
And then a mind put in't, either our brags
Were crack'd of kitchen-trolls, or his description
Proved us unspeaking sots.
3585

Iachimo. Your daughter's chastity—there it begins.
He spake of her, as Dian had hot dreams,
And she alone were cold: whereat I, wretch,
Made scruple of his praise; and wager'd with him
3590Pieces of gold 'gainst this which then he wore
Upon his honour'd finger, to attain
In suit the place of's bed and win this ring
By hers and mine adultery. He, true knight,
No lesser of her honour confident
3595Than I did truly find her, stakes this ring;
And would so, had it been a carbuncle
Of Phoebus' wheel, and might so safely, had it
Been all the worth of's car. Away to Britain
Post I in this design: well may you, sir,
3600Remember me at court; where I was taught
Of your chaste daughter the wide difference
'Twixt amorous and villanous. Being thus quench'd
Of hope, not longing, mine Italian brain
'Gan in your duller Britain operate
3605Most vilely; for my vantage, excellent:
And, to be brief, my practise so prevail'd,
That I return'd with simular proof enough
To make the noble Leonatus mad,
By wounding his belief in her renown
3610With tokens thus, and thus; averting notes
Of chamber-hanging, pictures, this her bracelet,—
O cunning, how I got it!—nay, some marks
Of secret on her person, that he could not
But think her bond of chastity quite crack'd,
3615I having ta'en the forfeit. Whereupon—
Methinks, I see him now—

Posthumus Leonatus. [Advancing] Ay, so thou dost,
Italian fiend! Ay me, most credulous fool,
Egregious murderer, thief, any thing
3620That's due to all the villains past, in being,
To come! O, give me cord, or knife, or poison,
Some upright justicer! Thou, king, send out
For torturers ingenious: it is I
That all the abhorred things o' the earth amend
3625By being worse than they. I am Posthumus,
That kill'd thy daughter:—villain-like, I lie—
That caused a lesser villain than myself,
A sacrilegious thief, to do't: the temple
Of virtue was she; yea, and she herself.
3630Spit, and throw stones, cast mire upon me, set
The dogs o' the street to bay me: every villain
Be call'd Posthumus Leonitus; and
Be villany less than 'twas! O Imogen!
My queen, my life, my wife! O Imogen,
3635Imogen, Imogen!

Cornelius. O gods!
I left out one thing which the queen confess'd.
Which must approve thee honest: 'If Pisanio
Have,' said she, 'given his mistress that confection
Which I gave him for cordial, she is served
3665As I would serve a rat.'

Cornelius. The queen, sir, very oft importuned me
To temper poisons for her, still pretending
The satisfaction of her knowledge only
3670In killing creatures vile, as cats and dogs,
Of no esteem: I, dreading that her purpose
Was of more danger, did compound for her
A certain stuff, which, being ta'en, would cease
The present power of life, but in short time
3675All offices of nature should again
Do their due functions. Have you ta'en of it?

Cymbeline. O, she was nought; and long of her it was
That we meet here so strangely: but her son
3700Is gone, we know not how nor where.

Pisanio. My lord,
Now fear is from me, I'll speak troth. Lord Cloten,
Upon my lady's missing, came to me
With his sword drawn; foam'd at the mouth, and swore,
3705If I discover'd not which way she was gone,
It was my instant death. By accident,
had a feigned letter of my master's
Then in my pocket; which directed him
To seek her on the mountains near to Milford;
3710Where, in a frenzy, in my master's garments,
Which he enforced from me, away he posts
With unchaste purpose and with oath to violate
My lady's honour: what became of him
I further know not.
3715

Guiderius. A most incivil one: the wrongs he did me
Were nothing prince-like; for he did provoke me
3725With language that would make me spurn the sea,
If it could so roar to me: I cut off's head;
And am right glad he is not standing here
To tell this tale of mine.

Belarius. Stay, sir king:
This man is better than the man he slew,
As well descended as thyself; and hath
More of thee merited than a band of Clotens
3740Had ever scar for.
[To the Guard]Let his arms alone;
They were not born for bondage.

Cymbeline. Why, old soldier,
3745Wilt thou undo the worth thou art unpaid for,
By tasting of our wrath? How of descent
As good as we?

Belarius. I am too blunt and saucy: here's my knee:
Ere I arise, I will prefer my sons;
Then spare not the old father. Mighty sir,
3775These two young gentlemen, that call me father
And think they are my sons, are none of mine;
They are the issue of your loins, my liege,
And blood of your begetting.

Belarius. So sure as you your father's. I, old Morgan,
Am that Belarius whom you sometime banish'd:
Your pleasure was my mere offence, my punishment
Itself, and all my treason; that I suffer'd
Was all the harm I did. These gentle princes—
3785For such and so they are—these twenty years
Have I train'd up: those arts they have as I
Could put into them; my breeding was, sir, as
Your highness knows. Their nurse, Euriphile,
Whom for the theft I wedded, stole these children
3790Upon my banishment: I moved her to't,
Having received the punishment before,
For that which I did then: beaten for loyalty
Excited me to treason: their dear loss,
The more of you 'twas felt, the more it shaped
3795Unto my end of stealing them. But, gracious sir,
Here are your sons again; and I must lose
Two of the sweet'st companions in the world.
The benediction of these covering heavens
Fall on their heads like dew! for they are worthy
3800To inlay heaven with stars.

Cymbeline. Thou weep'st, and speak'st.
The service that you three have done is more
Unlike than this thou tell'st. I lost my children:
If these be they, I know not how to wish
3805A pair of worthier sons.

Belarius. Be pleased awhile.
This gentleman, whom I call Polydore,
Most worthy prince, as yours, is true Guiderius:
This gentleman, my Cadwal, Arviragus,
3810Your younger princely son; he, sir, was lapp'd
In a most curious mantle, wrought by the hand
Of his queen mother, which for more probation
I can with ease produce.

Cymbeline. Guiderius had
3815Upon his neck a mole, a sanguine star;
It was a mark of wonder.

Belarius. This is he;
Who hath upon him still that natural stamp:
It was wise nature's end in the donation,
3820To be his evidence now.

Cymbeline. O, what, am I
A mother to the birth of three? Ne'er mother
Rejoiced deliverance more. Blest pray you be,
That, after this strange starting from your orbs,
3825may reign in them now! O Imogen,
Thou hast lost by this a kingdom.

Imogen. No, my lord;
I have got two worlds by 't. O my gentle brothers,
Have we thus met? O, never say hereafter
3830But I am truest speaker you call'd me brother,
When I was but your sister; I you brothers,
When ye were so indeed.

Cymbeline. O rare instinct!
When shall I hear all through? This fierce
3840abridgement
Hath to it circumstantial branches, which
Distinction should be rich in. Where? how lived You?
And when came you to serve our Roman captive?
How parted with your brothers? how first met them?
3845Why fled you from the court? and whither? These,
And your three motives to the battle, with
I know not how much more, should be demanded;
And all the other by-dependencies,
From chance to chance: but nor the time nor place
3850Will serve our long inter'gatories. See,
Posthumus anchors upon Imogen,
And she, like harmless lightning, throws her eye
On him, her brother, me, her master, hitting
Each object with a joy: the counterchange
3855Is severally in all. Let's quit this ground,
And smoke the temple with our sacrifices.
[To BELARIUS]Thou art my brother; so we'll hold thee ever.

Imogen. You are my father too, and did relieve me,
3860To see this gracious season.

Cymbeline. All o'erjoy'd,
Save these in bonds: let them be joyful too,
For they shall taste our comfort.

Cymbeline. The forlorn soldier, that so nobly fought,
He would have well becomed this place, and graced
The thankings of a king.
3870

Posthumus Leonatus. I am, sir,
The soldier that did company these three
In poor beseeming; 'twas a fitment for
The purpose I then follow'd. That I was he,
Speak, Iachimo: I had you down and might
3875Have made you finish.

Iachimo. [Kneeling] I am down again:
But now my heavy conscience sinks my knee,
As then your force did. Take that life, beseech you,
Which I so often owe: but your ring first;
3880And here the bracelet of the truest princess
That ever swore her faith.

Posthumus Leonatus. Kneel not to me:
The power that I have on you is, to spare you;
The malice towards you to forgive you: live,
3885And deal with others better.

Arviragus. You holp us, sir,
3890As you did mean indeed to be our brother;
Joy'd are we that you are.

Posthumus Leonatus. Your servant, princes. Good my lord of Rome,
Call forth your soothsayer: as I slept, methought
Great Jupiter, upon his eagle back'd,
3895Appear'd to me, with other spritely shows
Of mine own kindred: when I waked, I found
This label on my bosom; whose containing
Is so from sense in hardness, that I can
Make no collection of it: let him show
3900His skill in the construction.

Soothsayer. [Reads] 'When as a lion's whelp shall, to himself
3905unknown, without seeking find, and be embraced by a
piece of tender air; and when from a stately cedar
shall be lopped branches, which, being dead many
years, shall after revive, be jointed to the old
stock, and freshly grow; then shall Posthumus end
3910his miseries, Britain be fortunate and flourish in
peace and plenty.'
Thou, Leonatus, art the lion's whelp;
The fit and apt construction of thy name,
Being Leonatus, doth import so much.
3915[To CYMBELINE]The piece of tender air, thy virtuous daughter,
Which we call 'mollis aer;' and 'mollis aer'
We term it 'mulier:' which 'mulier' I divine
Is this most constant wife; who, even now,
3920Answering the letter of the oracle,
Unknown to you, unsought, were clipp'd about
With this most tender air.

Soothsayer. The lofty cedar, royal Cymbeline,
3925Personates thee: and thy lopp'd branches point
Thy two sons forth; who, by Belarius stol'n,
For many years thought dead, are now revived,
To the majestic cedar join'd, whose issue
Promises Britain peace and plenty.
3930

Cymbeline. Well
My peace we will begin. And, Caius Lucius,
Although the victor, we submit to Caesar,
And to the Roman empire; promising
To pay our wonted tribute, from the which
3935We were dissuaded by our wicked queen;
Whom heavens, in justice, both on her and hers,
Have laid most heavy hand.

Soothsayer. The fingers of the powers above do tune
The harmony of this peace. The vision
3940Which I made known to Lucius, ere the stroke
Of this yet scarce-cold battle, at this instant
Is full accomplish'd; for the Roman eagle,
From south to west on wing soaring aloft,
Lessen'd herself, and in the beams o' the sun
3945So vanish'd: which foreshow'd our princely eagle,
The imperial Caesar, should again unite
His favour with the radiant Cymbeline,
Which shines here in the west.

Cymbeline. Laud we the gods;
3950And let our crooked smokes climb to their nostrils
From our blest altars. Publish we this peace
To all our subjects. Set we forward: let
A Roman and a British ensign wave
Friendly together: so through Lud's-town march:
3955And in the temple of great Jupiter
Our peace we'll ratify; seal it with feasts.
Set on there! Never was a war did cease,
Ere bloody hands were wash'd, with such a peace.